


The Dragon Hunter

by Storyqueen4444



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Amputation, Complicated Relationships, Dragon Hunter AU, Dragons, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Magic, Minor/Background Relationships - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prosthetics, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-07 15:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storyqueen4444/pseuds/Storyqueen4444
Summary: Hanzo Shimada always knew that he would be a dragon hunter, roaming around killing dangerous pests that plagued the kingdom. It was what he and his brother Genji had been born and raised to do, as all their ancestors in the Shimada family had done for generations.But after a dragon managed to break through the walls of his family home nearly a decade ago--stealing Genji away in the process--Hanzo threw himself into his duty, carrying with him a thirst for vengeance and a deep hatred for the wild beasts.But when he comes across an injured man during one of his hunts, Hanzo's life quickly changes. What starts out as mere duty quickly turns into a warm and gentle feeling in his heart the more he gets to know this Jesse McCree, an honorable man with a noble mission he says very little about. Hanzo finds himself wanting to help McCree accomplish that mission in any way he can, wanting to get to know him better.But there's more to McCree's mission than he's saying, and soon Hanzo finds himself questioning everything he knows--about dragons, about McCree, and about himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my first Overwatch fic, and more importantly my very first multi-chapter published work: The Dragon Hunter! It's something I've been working on for awhile, and I'm very excited about it!
> 
> I don't really have a set schedule for this yet, but I'm hoping to try and post regularly. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Good luck!!!

Hanzo lay amongst the rubble, dazed.

 

What was he doing again? He couldn’t think over the white noise that filled his mind, limbs slack as he stared confusedly up at the sky.

 

The sky…something about that struck him as wrong, but he couldn’t figure out why. Something about the castle?

 

He frowned, looking up at the ancient gray stones that framed the expansive blue heavens. That’s right; Hanzo wasn’t supposed to be able to see the sky. Wasn’t there supposed to be a ceiling preventing that from happening?

 

Distantly, Hanzo became aware of someone calling his name. He turned his head, wincing at the pain—why was he hurt? He couldn’t quite remember—and saw Genji. His brother was blurredly reaching for him, appearing slowed, mouthing Hanzo’s name repetitively. He looked scared.

 

Hanzo could only stare stupidly, watching as the distance between him and Genji grew. Why was he leaving if he didn’t want to go?

 

Then the massive, silver-scaled hand came into view, and it all came rushing back to Hanzo.

 

“No,” Hanzo said, voice hoarse from all the dust he’d inhaled. “No, Genji!”

 

He shifted sluggishly in the rubble, the heavy stone and lingering head injury slowing his usually sharp reflexes. He tried desperately to get out of the debris, only for pain to shoot through his entire body.

 

“Genji!” he called again weakly. He extended his free arm toward his brother, watching hopelessly as Genji was dragged further away from him.

 

Hanzo tried to call out for help, tried to push off the stone that held him prisoner, to do anything that would save his brother from his fate. But to his horror, all he could do was watch, the edges of his vision rapidly darkening as the collapsed castle debris pressed heavier on his chest.

 

His breathing grew labored, watching as the giant silver claws holding Genji dragged him out of the hole in his home. The younger Shimada’s tear-streaked face was like a brand on Hanzo’s soul as he screamed…

 

*~*~*

 

Hanzo jerked awake, fists clenching the sheets tightly, and Genji’s name escaping his lips in a frightened shout.

 

He glanced around the room for invisible enemies, for the familiar icy blue eyes and silver scales of the monster from his dreams. What he found instead was the darkness and quiet of his room at the inn he was staying at. He was confused at first, wondering how he’d gotten there and where Genji was.

 

Then Hanzo remembered the aftermath of his most hated memory, and the familiar sense of desolation returned to him.

 

Hanzo fell back against his rented bed, looking blankly up at the ceiling as the gloom settled in. Ten years had passed since that fateful day, since—for the first time in centuries—the mighty Shimada castle had been attacked by a dragon. Ten years since Hanzo had officially begun his training to uphold his family’s legacy as a dragon hunter.

 

A decade since Genji had been taken from him.

 

Sighing regretfully, Hanzo rolled out of bed, knowing that trying to fall back asleep would be a fruitless endeavor after his memories came back to haunt him. The innkeeper probably wouldn’t care if he left earlier than planned; he’d paid for the night upfront, after all.

 

He reflexively packed his things, lost in the old thoughts the nightmare always stirred up. Hanzo had always been called “lucky” and “fortunate” for escaping the dragon’s wrath. He supposed in some ways he had been.

 

After the beast had flown away with its prize, their father had gone searching throughout the castle for his remaining son, finding Hanzo trapped under the very stones that were supposed to have protected them all. Hanzo recalled when he'd finally awakened, the way his father had hugged him, his silent tears staining the robes their healers had put on the young heir.

 

Hanzo remembered the silent wish he had made, as his father held him close—the wish he still begged for, some days, when the nightmares pursued him like wolves to a wounded lamb. That the monster had taken him, instead of Genji.

 

The sun was rising by the time Hanzo had gathered his things and saddled his horse, Arashi. He rode south, still lost in thoughts of the past. How, in their younger days, he and Genji would day-dream and pretend to be the fiercest and bravest dragon hunters in all the land. It had been what they were raised to become, after all. Every Shimada had taken up the mantle since their line was founded. Once they had finished their training, the two brothers had planned on making that dream come true, traveling the land together and searching for fearsome beasts to slay.

 

Now, Hanzo was forced to live that life alone, the weight of those dreams like a sinking stone in his soul.

 

As it turns out, the life of a dragon hunter wasn’t at all like the one Genji and Hanzo had imagined as children. Most of the job involved spending the night in either ratty inns or on the cold, hard, usually wet ground. Eating regularly was more often than not a rarity, depending on the area.

 

There were hardly any epic battles or tale-worthy adventures of slaying savage monsters.  Even when Hanzo did encounter a dragon, it was hardly like the stories their father used to tell them. Fighting a giant, fire-breathing lizard with talons like swords and the strength to crush stone and steel was a lot harder than it sounded.

 

Glancing down at the metal shins that hadn’t been there three years previously, Hanzo supposed that he knew this last fact more than most.

 

But Hanzo tried not to see them as a something he had lost. Not when he had lost them fighting his greatest enemy. No, they were a symbol that he still had a mission to accomplish, a purpose to fulfill.

 

Sitting up a little straighter in his saddle, he spurred Arashi onward. It had been three years since those dragons had taken his legs—a decade since one of them had taken his brother. Three years since his sword had tasted their blood on its steel. Hanzo planned on finishing the job, no matter what it took.

 

He would avenge his brother’s death if it was the last thing he ever did.

 

*~*~*

 

It had been three months since Hanzo had last visited the city of Utopaea.

 

It was a city of tall, elegant buildings, each one designed and put together by some of the most  talented mages in the world. Wealth, power, and nobility was embedded into each and every stone, filled the air like oxygen. Grace was imbued into every gesture its people made.

 

And corruption lay in every dark corner.

 

For such a pretty painted town, there was a thick layer of crime, malevolence beneath all that gold. The Vishkar College of Magi controlled most of the city, appearing as a just and selfless organization whose mages used magic for the benefit of their people. But after meeting a former one of their numbers, Hanzo knew differently.

 

He hated stepping foot in such a place full of pretty lies. These people were not nobles, at least not in the way Hanzo had been raised. He would avoid this place altogether—were it not for the fact that it was a great place to find jobs.

 

Turns out all that fool’s gold was good for something. Dragons loved Utopaea. Including the two from three years ago.

 

Since the incident that had taken his legs, Hanzo checked periodically for any new information about dragons in the area. He knew that the chances of encountering the same dragons from before were slim to none, but Hanzo didn’t know what else to do, seeing as it was his only lead for hunting down the beast that killed Genji.

 

But when he had heard tales of a dragon in the area once again about a week ago, Hanzo had immediately set his sights on the southern city. Even if it wasn't the same exact creature, it was still his duty as a hunter to slay it and protect the people. Including the petty, selfish citizens of Utopaea.

 

And if it was one of the same dragons from before, however…well, then all the more reason to take its head.

 

He led Arashi through the brightly colored streets, taking note of the muted mood of the citizens as he passed.

 

It wasn’t really a surprise to Hanzo after all these years. Dragons were a terror, a blight upon the kingdom; monsters that stole livestock, money, and people. The appearance of one was always a bad omen.

 

Hanzo was in the middle of purchasing supplies for his endeavor when a familiar voice met his ears, causing a large stone of displeasure to settle in his stomach.

 

“Oi! Arrow-man!” Junkrat called from behind Hanzo. Letting out an irritated sigh, Hanzo allowed himself to turn around to face his…his “fellow” dragon hunter as the blond alchemist hobbled his way over to the archer.

 

To his annoyance, the scrawny—but surprisingly strong—young hunter encased him in a large hug that was strong enough to lift him off the ground. “S’good to see ya, mate!” he said excitedly.

 

Hanzo let out a grunt of disapproval. While he held a great deal of respect for all those who wore the mantle of a hunter, Junkrat and his partner, Roadhog, were…less than respectable in Hanzo’s eyes.

 

The Shimada clan and the knights of the kingdom were trained to kill and protect out of duty to queen and crown. Hunters like Junkrat and Roadhog, on the other hand, only got into it for the sport and the money one made off a dragon’s body parts. It was a disgrace to the profession in Hanzo’s opinion, and he hadn’t tried to hide his feelings on the matter.

 

And yet somehow, the skinny blond alchemist considered Hanzo a friend after he had saved the fool’s life during a hunt. Now, whenever they were in the same area, Hanzo had to put up with the Rat’s near constant insistence that they were “friends.”

 

He supposed he should be reluctantly thankful that Junkrat was amicable. Most of his sort of hunter weren’t as kind when it came to a hunt, seeing the job as more of a competition than a sacred duty to uphold—and there were always people willing to eliminate anyone they saw as competition.

 

And considering how little was left over after the Rat’s explosive concoctions, it was probably a good thing that he considered Hanzo a friend. He wouldn't want to end up on the receiving end of Junkrat’s explosive flasks.

 

Still, that didn't mean Hanzo had to enjoy his “friend’s” disgusting odor as he was rocked back and forth by the alchemist. He tried not to let his relief show once he was released by Junkrat.

 

“How're you doing, cobber?” the younger hunter asked, a bright smile on his long face. Hanzo noticed that there was a bandage around Junkrat’s left leg. “Haven't seen you in a while!”

 

Hanzo gave a stern but polite nod. “I am doing fine,” he said evenly to the Rat.

 

He didn't miss the way Junkrat’s eyes flickered like a magpie’s toward the shiny metal of his legs, and most certainly wasn’t humble enough not to raise his head up in pride. A hunter’s scars were something to be proud of; they were a mark of victory on battle, a badge of honor and survival.

 

It wasn't uncommon for hunters to lose limbs and body parts in their line of work, so a great number of them ended up seeking out mages or builders to construct replacement limbs—something Junkrat knew well, considering the peg leg and arm.

 

Not that most people saw them that way, but hunters were of a different breed. So Junkrat’s excited grin wasn’t a completely unexpected reaction. “Well, would you look at that!” he said with a laugh, raising his orange right arm and wiggling the metal fingers. “We’re matching!”

 

Hanzo had to refrain from pointing out the fact that he and the Rat were nothing alike. He simply nodded in agreement, biting his tongue. Junkrat kneeled down to get a closer look at the legs. “Holy dooly,” he said in wonder, looking at the legs’ sleek design. He gave a drawn out whistle at the sight. “Those’re a lot fancier than mine. Real corker of a job, that is. Must've been real exy!”

 

After knowing the hunter for so long, Hanzo had grown accustomed to the slang of Junkrat’s home village of Junkertown. “Yes, they were very expensive,” he told the Rat. “Nearly cost me my weight in gold.”

 

Junkrat gave an unsurprised cackle. “Should’ve pointed you to Roadie, mate,” he said with a large, amused smile and tapping his peg leg with his metal hand. “Knows how to make ‘em nice and cheap.”

 

It was at that moment that Junkrat’s said bodyguard chose to come up beside his smaller companion, as if the mere mention of Roadhog’s name was enough to summon him. Feeling his warmth at his side, Junkrat turned and looked up, grinning wide. “Hey there, Roadie!” He greeted cheerfully. “We were just talking about ya, you old dag! Nothing but good things, promise.”

 

Roadhog only stared down silently at his fellow hunter, eyes and face hidden behind the pig-designed smoke-mask he always wore, even outside of battle.

 

Hanzo had to keep the muscles along his spine from shivering in Roadhog’s presence. Something about the man always seemed…off to Hanzo, though he couldn't place exactly what it was. Perhaps it his inability to read Roadhog’s emotions, hidden by the mask and unexpressed in his voice—the few times he had so chosen to speak.

 

It could also be his frightening cruelty and ferocity in battle. That would be enough to make any seasoned hunter nervous.

 

No matter what caused the feeling, though, Hanzo was certain he never wanted to face Roadhog’s deadly hook in battle. He remained silent.

 

“Anyway,” Junkrat continued to say, bringing his short attention back to Hanzo. “You're here for the bunyip, right?” he asked, using the Junkertown word for dragon.

 

Hanzo nodded, shifting on his metal feet so that he was fully facing both hunters. “Yes, I am,” he said, giving them his full attention. “Have there been any clear sightings?”

 

Junkrat nodded excitedly, giving a little maniacal laughter. “And it was a big one too! Nearly scared the shite out of some traveler up in the mountains!” he said with a sadistic giggle.

 

The wording threw Hanzo off for a moment. “Was? Past tense?”

 

“Oh yeah, should be long gone by now,” Junkrat said in disappointment, lip poking out to pout. “Damn bloody formula went all bugger on me! Went off too bloody early!”

 

That…didn't tell Hanzo much.

 

It was Roadhog who answered for him, his deep, terrifying grumble of a voice nearly causing Hanzo to jump straight out of his metal boots as he translated for his partner. “We found the cave it was staying in,” he said gruffly. “Planned on burying most of it under some rubble. Bomb went off too early though, and it got away.” He gave a surprisingly gentle cuff to the back of Junkrat’s charred head.

 

Aw, that explains the injury on Junkrat’s leg. But there was still something bothering him…

 

“What about the coloring? Distinguishable features?” Hanzo tried not to let his eagerness for a specific answer show. It was probably foolish to hope for it, but if there was even a chance of one or both of his enemies had returned…a chance to fulfill his revenge…

 

“Brown, with darker stripes going down the back,” Roadhog growled out, once again startling Hanzo. “Red spikes up the spine; yellow underbelly; gold horns with red tips.”

 

Brown…so not the same dragons from before. Hanzo made an effort not to show his disappointment.

 

Well, at least the gold horns would catch him a decent profit. Maybe he would actually be able to afford to let himself stay at an inn with a bath and a decent bed when this mission was over.

 

Now all he had to do was somehow manage to get away from these two.

 

“Anyway,” Junkrat was still talking, arms waving excitedly and light umber eyes sparkling. “We was planning on heading out tomorrow to blow it up some more! You want in?”

 

Hanzo didn’t give his answer much time to think over. “No, I don’t believe I ‘want in,’” he said impassively, already turning away to continue getting himself prepared for the hunt. “I hunt better alone, as you know.”

 

Hanzo pretended not to notice the look of hurt on Junkrat’s face as he purchased a whetting stone for his blade.

 

Roadhog and Junkrat moved on, the smaller departing with sagging shoulders that Hanzo chose to ignore. He really shouldn’t care about the other hunter’s feelings; it wasn’t like they were friends, after all. Not to Hanzo any way.

 

No, Hanzo didn’t have the time to make friends or care about what other people thought and felt; not when he had mission to complete.

 

Not when that silver monster was still out there, waiting for Hanzo to shove his blade through its eye so that Genji could rest in peace.

 

*~*~*

 

The cave where Junkrat’s concoction had detonated wasn’t too hard to find.

 

Well, Hanzo assumed it had been a cave at some point. Before Junkrat had taken a swing at it, certainly. What the hunter found instead was a pile of rubble and rock, spilt over the mountain face like brains from a cracked skull. It reminded Hanzo frighteningly of Hanamura, the insides of Shimada Castle ripped out by the silver dragon. He tried to shake the feeling off dread off by moving his gaze to the wreckage, looking intently for clues.

 

There were claw marks and footprints scattered around the shattered boulders, the lack of any discernable pattern a sign of the creature’s panic during the eruption. There were no scorch or acid marks, meaning the dragon probably hadn’t used its breath weapon during its escape. Most likely worried that that it would set off more explosives.

 

He followed the tracks to the cliff edge of the mountain pass, where it had obviously taken off, but from there Hanzo couldn’t tell where it was going. If only he could find some—there! Blood, cold as the stone it was splattered on after being splashed over for several days, rings of red-brown stains from where it had dried in the sun. Hanzo looked over the edge for more, sighting the dragon’s blood spread out on some of the grass and trees below.

 

Hanzo hummed thoughtfully as his eyes followed the trail. The beast appeared to have been heading east, most likely toward the unexplored regions of the Shambali Mountains. He knew dragons were suspected to nest there, but the only support for this theory was the fact that a great many dragons had been seen there—and the fact that any foolish mapper or explorer stupid enough to go had never returned.

 

He considered his options. Normally, the trip to the outskirts of the dreaded mountains would take around a month on horseback, though it was probably a lot closer with a pair of wings. However, if the amount of blood was anything to go by, the injury would slow the monster down immeasurably…perhaps this umber dragon would be worth the pursuit.

 

Clicking his tongue, Hanzo guided Arashi down the mountain at full gallop, following the trail of blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this is a week late, and I apologize for that. Mental issues got the best of me these past few weeks. But here it is at last, so please enjoy the next chapter!
> 
> ALSO: in case you may not have noticed the "Dismemberment" tag was replaced with the "amputation" one as I thought it was more appropriate. If anyone has any suggestions for tags I might have missed at this or any other point in the story PLEASE do not hesitate to contact me!

Hanzo groaned as he came to, rolling over in his bed roll awkwardly as his back protested the treatment.

 

He sighed, already reaching for where he knew his weapons and tea would be. He hated mornings—especially after three days of nonstop travel and horseback riding, following a trail of blood that was quickly becoming fewer and farther between spills.

 

And on top of that, everything felt awful. His back ached, his legs felt like they couldn’t handle another day of riding Arashi, he swore his nose would smell nothing but the smell of dying dragon blood for the rest of his life, and he hadn’t had a decent meal since leaving Utopaea. It was almost like torture.

 

But then, such was the life of a dragon hunter.

 

Sometimes Hanzo wondered how his father had dealt with it. At least Hanzo had the benefit of not having any living family members; he can’t imagine how he would feel if he had a wife (or husband, as his case may be) and a pair of children at home to leave behind.

 

Hanzo remembered those long months, lying awake at night with Genji, heart heavy as they hoped their father would come back to them soon. Waiting with bated breath for either Sojiro to return…or for him to never come home.

 

But now was not the time to sulk in old memories. He had a mission to accomplish.

 

The dragon that Junkrat had injured was certainly stubborn if it had gone this long without simply keeling over and accepting its fate. He had expected this chase to end yesterday, when he’d seen the creature finally pass out and fall—midflight—from exhaustion and pain. He’d actually found a crater among the trees during his pursuit.

 

That act usually killed the beasts. Hanzo expected to find his prize at last at the crash site.

 

Instead, he’d just found more blood and scales and destruction, with hobbled tracks leading west instead of east.

 

Its resolve impressed Hanzo. He was curious as to what would make a beast so determined not to die.

 

He supposed it didn’t really matter. It would all make its death all the more satisfying in the end.

 

At least, killing it would be enjoyable—if he could find the damn thing. He glanced around the forest, eyes sharp for any sign of dried blood or tracks. The dragon had been leaving fewer and fewer traces, its blood appearing less and less.

 

Hanzo was beginning to fear that his prey would get away this time. A disastrous way to start out a hunt, but things like this weren’t exactly uncommon. Dragons had wings after all.

 

It didn’t help that his legs were beginning to act up, the delicate mechanisms in the ankles acting stiff and uncooperative, the soles beginning to feel uneven and awkward. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t too far away from Gibraltar, the home of the woman who had crafted his legs in the first place. It was just a quick pass through Eichenwalde. He could always visit them for a touch-up…

 

A part of Hanzo was sorely tempted to do just that, to visit his old friends, and maybe upgrade his legs. He was rather eager to spend the night on a proper bed and with a hot meal in his belly. This road was popular with bandits anyway, and he’d rather not deal with such idiocy if he could.

 

The other half of himself, the one that remembered Genji's bright laughter and smile, and dearly missed seeing those everyday—wanted the dragon to die.

 

Unfortunately, as the hours passed, Hanzo began to suspect that his thirst for vengeance would be left unsated this day. Sighing in his frustration, Hanzo eventually clicked his tongue and directed Arashi back around, intent on beginning the trek to Gibraltar. Well, at least his hunger would be appeased.

 

Just as Hanzo was beginning to see the top of the large boulder that marked that he was on the right path, he heard it: a long, drawn out groan coming from somewhere in the forest.

 

The sound gave the hunter pause, halting Arashi with a gentle tug of her reins. Hanzo glanced around, searching for who or what had made the sound. It sounded close, masculine, and obviously hurt, yet he couldn't see anyone around—

 

It came again, another moan of distress that even had Arashi's ears perking. Frowning in concern, Hanzo dismounted, sword drawn as he searched the bushes beside the trail. It wouldn’t be the first time bandits had lured victims in by imitating someone in need, and Hanzo would not be caught unprepared if such was the case.

 

Another series of weaker groans allowed Hanzo to find the source of the noise, saving him the embarrassment of tripping over it. Or rather, him.

 

Naturally, the first thing Hanzo noticed was all the blood, brown and crusted from spending hours to dry unattended, some of it still fresh from the grisly mess of the man's left arm. The second thing he noticed was the leather satchel the man held, and the sheer death-grip he had on it. When Hanzo tried to pry it out of the man's grip, the man made a weak noise of protest and impossibly tightened his hold of the satchel. Hanzo thought it best not to mess with it.

 

The third thing he saw—a little too late, as Hanzo was already picking the injured man up (the satchel pressed close to the man’s chest, clearly afraid to lose whatever contents it held even when out-cold from pain and blood loss) and carrying him over to Arashi—was his stark nakedness.

 

Of course, Hanzo wasn't so prudish when it came to seeing another person’s bare form; one didn't learn to care much about physical modesty when they were sworn to a life of hunting dragons since birth.

 

But he was sure that this man wouldn’t share those same views. Hanzo quickly took out a blanket he had gotten in Dorado to cover his patient and keep him safe from the cold, taking Arashi’s reins and guiding her up to the village as quickly as possible without over taxing her.

 

As soon as he walked through the gates of Eichenwalde, he called for assistance, keeping a firm hand on the bound man in order to prevent his slumped form from slipping out of Arashi’s saddle. He was eventually pointed in the direction of the healer, who lived right outside of town—in the complete opposite direction. He frustratingly trekked his way there, moving up and down the hilly town while ignoring the curious stares of the townsfolk.

 

He arrived just as the sun was beginning to set, coloring the clouds gold and pink as it fell below the horizon. Unlike the rest of the village—full of stone two- or three-story buildings all leaning upon one another dependently—the healer had set themselves up in a small, simple wood cabin. A little herb and flower garden wrapped around the stone base, no doubt used to help with poultices, potions, and the like.

 

Most of these things were of little importance to Hanzo at the moment, more concerned with the injured man on his horse, who appeared to be growing sicker and weaker by the minute. He knocked forcefully on the wooden door with his free hand, the stranger carefully slung over his shoulders.

 

There was the sound of movement inside, and suddenly, there was a woman standing in front of him, single bronze eye looking at him with a stern indifference that actually frightened Hanzo. She was a head smaller than Hanzo, wearing a blue headscarf over her silvery-white hair, a peak of which was sticking out over the eyepatch on her right eye and encircling in a braid around her neck.

 

The woman took one look at Hanzo, then at the man he was carrying, and then back at Hanzo.

 

Then, much to the hunter’s relief, she sighed in exasperated acceptance, moving aside in her doorway. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she said in a light, musical, but ironically iron-firm voice. “Get in here.”

 

Hanzo only had a brief moment of hesitation before following the woman’s orders, walking into her cabin.

 

Whatever he expected by walking into the little home, those expectations were soon flung aside as he stepped into the warm, welcoming room. Healing herbs hung everywhere from the ceiling, something he had come to expect from pretty much every healer’s den he had visited over the years. There was a warm fireplace with a cauldron of soup boiling inside it, giving the heated atmosphere a homey, lived-in feel. It briefly made Hanzo’s heart ache for Hanamura and Shimada Castle.

 

Decorated rugs covered every inch of floor space, warming the cabin further and leaving a comfortable den area for the woman to sit in. There was a small sit-down table in the center, a cup of tea showing where exactly the woman had been sitting. There were two openings on either side of the fireplace: one her quarters, the other most likely for sick patients.

 

“Set him down in there while I get my things,” she commanded, pointing to the left doorway absentmindedly. Ducking significantly below the countless number of medical herbs, Hanzo entered a small room with nothing but a thin, clean cot and table against the wall and a chair in the corner.

 

Hanzo placed the man on the cot, ignoring how his arm was a little sticky where the dried blood had seeped onto his skin from the man’s wounds. The motion didn’t even produce a whine from his patient, which worried Hanzo after hearing a variety of weak noises from him over the course of the evening. He glanced at the mangled arm once more when he was fully unwrapped from the blanket, still clutching the satchel in a death grip, and hoping that he wasn’t too late.

 

The setting sun was shining through the window above the cot, giving the injured man’s brown face and hair a glowing, coppery-red sheen. A ruddy-brown lock was clinging to the man’s sweaty forehead. Without really thinking about it, Hanzo reached up and brushed the strand of hair to the side, revealing more of that handsome face.

 

The sound of footsteps met his ears and interrupted his thoughts, and Hanzo immediately retracted his hand just as the healer was coming in, a set of tools and herbs bundled in her arms.

 

“I think that’s all I’ll be needing,” she muttered to herself, setting them down on the table next to the bed before moving to stand over her latest patient.

 

She tried to remove the satchel just as Hanzo had, only to meet the same determined resistance from before. The man somehow found the strength to jerk his charge away from the healer's hands. She raised an impressed eyebrow.

 

“Do you know what happened?” she asked as she changed tactics, rubbing her hands gently over the man's in order to encourage him to loosen his grip enough for her to get a decent look at his arm.

 

“Bandits, I assume,” Hanzo said honestly. Because what else could it be? A single man, all alone in the woods, wounded and all but one small satchel stolen from him—it was the only logical solution Hanzo could think of.

 

The healer hummed thoughtfully at his answer, lifting up and laying the satchel beside the cot. She picked up the injured arm to inspect it further.

 

Hanzo nearly gagged at the putrid smell that was released from the revealed wound, red and black at the edges from infection and rot.

 

Hanzo stared at the festering opening in shock. How had he not noticed such a thing? Trailing up his arm from wrist to elbow, it was a deep, gaping opening, with black-edged flesh barely clinging to the exposed broken bone. By his ancestors, the man must have been out there a lot longer than a few hours if this was the state he was in.

 

The injury certainly gave the healer pause. Then, quick as a serpent, she took up a knife from her discarded pile—a very large, very sharp knife, with a shimmering enchanted edge that Hanzo could tell could cut through solid bone.

 

Hanzo jumped, reaching up to stop her. “What are you doing?!” he shouted in horror.

 

She glared at him with her single bronze eye. “What does it look like,” she said tersely. “I’m trying to save his life!”

 

“By removing his arm?”

 

The healer took up the limb in question, bringing the stinking thing close to his nose and making him retch again. “Does it look like I can save this thing? This ugly, rotting thing with shattered bones and dead muscles? The only good this can do anymore is feed the flies!” she said with a snarl, waving the arm around.

 

The owner of said arm didn’t even flinch at the treatment, too far gone to complain in his unconsciousness.

 

The healer’s stern face softened a little, settling down the arm carefully. “I’m trying to save him,” she said, voice soft. “If I let him keep this, I’ll just end up causing him more pain. The infection will only spread and grow. With this off, I at least have a chance to prevent him from getting worse.”

 

Hanzo grit his teeth, the area just below the knee feeling unusually cold and painful. “…you can’t wait until he’s at least awake enough to give his consent?” he said quietly. The fist that wasn’t still holding the woman’s arm was white-knuckled from clenching it against his side.

 

The healer shook her head, regret making her mouth turn down sorrowfully. “If I wait that long, it will be too late,” she informed him. Her arm didn’t move from where it still hovered over the man’s arm, blade at the ready.

 

Hanzo gritted his jaw in frustration. He knew she was right, that the chance of the man coming to in time was slim to none, the chance of him being lucid even slimmer. He shouldn't—couldn’t let his personal feelings regarding the subject prevent him from letting this woman save a life.

 

Hanzo removed his hand from her wrist. He placed them firmly on the man’s shoulder and good arm, refusing to look down at the red blanket as he held the man under it down.

 

He shut his eyes tight so that he couldn’t see the gleam of the blade as it sliced downward.

 

He grit his teeth at the far too familiar scream that was released after the harsh, slick slide of the enchanted knife went clean through, thudding as it hit the cot behind it. He regretfully dedicated himself to throwing his weight down on the spasming muscles to prevent the man from hurting either himself, the healer, or Hanzo.

 

He didn’t release his hold until the wordless, scared shouting stopped. Until the body beneath him stopped moving, the heat it gave off the only sign that it was still alive, and even then only barely.

 

Hanzo managed to hold back his vomit until he dragged himself back outside, ruining the healer’s flowers.

 

He held his metal shins tight to his body as he was lost in thought, remembering similar screams marring up his own throat when light had ripped through the seared remains of his legs, a blue diamond lighting up between a pair of cool amber eyes.

 

*~*~*

 

Hanzo didn’t know exactly how long he sat out there, waiting for the healer’s report.

 

Long enough for him to find a place to set up his tent and settle Arashi for the night, once his panic attack was over. He’d even had time to hunt and find a hart along with some rabbits in order to cook them up for him and the healer, once she returned.

 

The stars were just beginning to fade when the sound of the door opening and closing alerted Hanzo to her presence. The healer gave a loud sigh of exhaustion as she plopped down next to the fire Hanzo had set up, sweat shining on her forehead like a medal after hours if her hard work. “It is done,” she said simply, if a little breathless.

 

Hanzo reached over toward the fire, where he had a pot cooking, and ladled out a bowlful of hart stew for her to enjoy. The smile he received once the wooden bowl was placed in her hands certainly made him think he'd earned her respect.

 

“Why thank you, dear!” she said enthusiastically. She raised the cup to her lips, then paused, placing it back down. She squinted at Hanzo suspiciously. “How did you kill it?”

 

Hanzo was momentarily taken aback by the question, but quickly understood. He had met many hunters and travelers who had dietary restrictions throughout his journies.

 

“I wounded it with an arrow, then sliced its throat open as quickly and painlessly as possible.” If it was one thing Sojiro had made sure to verbally hammer into his sons, it was to always make sure no animal killed for food suffered when they died.

 

This answer seemed to satisfy the healer, nodding with approval. She whispered something over the bowl before she lifted it to her lips again. She took a sip of it, humming as she enjoyed the flavor.

 

“Ah, now that hits the spot.” She gave him a wry look with her single eye. “I'm half tempted to let you pay off the fee by hiring you as my cook.”

 

The hunter ignored her attempts at humor, face a blank mask. “Is he okay?” was all Hanzo asked.

 

The healer pursed her lips at him. “Blunt and to the point, aren't you?” she said bemusedly. Then she sat back on her heels with a sigh. “The infection set in pretty deep, but it should be taken care of now that the source has been removed. I bound the stump…but he lost a lot of blood.” She took another sip of soup. “And it looked like he was pushing his body rather hard even before you found him. It will be awhile before he wakes.”

 

Her bronze eye softened sympathetically when she saw Hanzo slump at the news. She tried to reach over and take his hand, probably to comfort him, but Hanzo moved away from the touch. The healer pulled away at his uneasiness, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “But the thing to focus on here,” she said encouragingly, shooting him a small smile, “is that he _will_ wake up.”

 

Hanzo looked up at that. “You’re certain?”

 

A scoff. “Young man, do I look like some fool to shower you with false promises and lies?” Hanzo gulped at the sheer intensity of her sarcasm.

 

Then she smirked and gave an amused chuckle at his nervousness. “I am more than certain, my dear,” she finally assured him, pointing back behind her at her home. “That boy’s got more fire in him than you know.” Another amused, knowing smirk. “He’s got a mission and an iron will to keep him going. As long as he gets a little rest and let the medicine do its job, he should be more than fine.”

 

Now it was Hanzo’s turn to scoff. “Physically, at least,” he said disdainfully, almost judgmentally. He had to resist the urge to twitch one of his knees.

 

The healer made no comment at that, staring into the flames while one hand came up to touch her eyepatch.

 

There was a moment of utter silence between the two, eating and letting the dawn rise peacefully behind them. Then the healer was jumping to her feet with a sharp clap and a smile, making Hanzo jump as she turned elegantly on her heel.

 

“Well then!” she said with far too much cheer. Hanzo could tell she was trying to divert attention away from dark thoughts—both within herself and her guest. “I’ll be inside keeping an eye on him—and sleeping, because goodness did that poor boy need help. You’re more than welcome to stay out here until he gets better—and longer, if need be.” Hanzo tried not to flush as she waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

 

Judging from her smirk, he’d failed. “Goodnight!” she sing-songed as she walked away, an arm raised in farewell.

 

Right before she walked back into her home, she looked at Hanzo warmly, reminding him painfully of his mother. “The name is Ana, by the way,” she told him. “Ana Amari.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to talk to me about this or my other works please contact me over my tumblr: https://storyqueen4444.tumblr.com/
> 
> Comments are love!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


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